


Old Gods on New Streets

by syntheticvision



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Protective Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:34:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25918912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syntheticvision/pseuds/syntheticvision
Summary: Every human is assigned a protector, a being who makes sure you reach the age you were destined for.No one talks about changing fate.Then a protector saves a life. Doing so has consequences.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started this as a two-shot but now I'm not sure if I want to continue it or leave it as is.
> 
> Edit: we're in multi-chapter territory now :D

Rain pattered the ground, droplets collecting on his polished black leather shoes. In the distance, people gathered, a sea of black umbrellas covering the view of the casket. A proper and somber goodbye to a life well lived. He had known her better than the ones who crowded over the plot, wiping their tears and holding each other for comfort.

His black umbrella shielded him from the downpour as he stood, unmoving as people dispersed up ahead. He was far away enough to not draw attention. This farewell was not required in his line of work when a life had departed. Even after centuries, he still lingered after every one. It was the closest he would get to closure before he was assigned someone new and the process would begin once more. Destined to repeat, watching life be born and then expire. An unseen protector, always watching.

There were never tears for the ones who passed. Expressing pain was a mortal method, primal and instinctive. He had no use for it. Still, there was curiosity in watching them, as he was tasked to do and for that he found himself at their final resting places, remembering them as intimately as they had once known themselves.

Workers began to shovel dirt over the plot and he took that as his signal to leave, turning on his heels and heading back to his car.

➖

“Amata Casali. Born in Cefalù, Sicily. Ninety-seven years old at close out. That’s a long time,” Strange quipped, flipping through the thick file. “Good work. Casali was able to complete quite a bit while she was alive.”

“Very talented from what I could see.”

Strange stroked his goatee for a moment after he closed the file, adding it to the week’s departures. He didn’t enjoy the paperwork or the fact that his boss was much younger, a least by a century, giving him orders and telling him what to do. There never used to be this much structure. It was becoming unnatural.

“You don’t have to go to the cemeteries, you know. All you’re required to do is report when they’ve expired. You wouldn’t be having any feelings for these people, would you?”

“I like having closure,” he replied.

Strange tapped the departure files. “This is closure. _That_ sounds like feelings. We don’t deal in mortal emotions.”

“I’m not debating you on this. It’s a goodbye, nothing more.” There was no patience left for an argument.

Strange held up his hands in surrender. He knew when to quit. It wasn’t smart to get his best asset riled. They all had a job to do and it wasn’t his business if that was how he said his goodbyes. Some still had humanity left in them, dregs of mortality from eons ago that still flowed through their systems that made them susceptible to tears. Eventually they were weeded out, swiped from the system. They would no longer exist.

“Okay, I get it. Not in the mood for jokes. That’ll be all for now. I’ll send you your next assignment.”

Without a word, he got up from the chair and left, closing the door behind him and heading back to his office.

Here there were no distractions, only time to think and reflect as he sat in his plush leather chair, leaning back and remembering when Amata was born, the loud cry piercing his ears as he walked past the small house in the seaside town, her confirmation to the world that she had arrived and was ready to live life to the fullest.

The rule was to check-in every ten years. Some did more, others less. For those who did the latter, you were monitored, put on a schedule to ensure you were doing the job you were born to do. He preferred to keep it simple and abide by the rule.

By age ten, Amata was painting, her fingers expertly holding a paintbrush while being mentored by her father, Enzo. By age twenty, she was married to a cobbler, still painting in her spare time, most of it spent by following her husband to confirm his multiple affairs.

When he visited her at age thirty, she had three children, one screaming and pulling at her skirts while the other two ran in circles as she painted once more, sadness in her eyes that also bled through her paintings. She seemed relegated to her fate, giving up the dreams she had once when she was a girl.

Forty and fifty years passed, the passing of her husband bringing her no joy but the birth of grandchildren, the chance to teach another young life how to dip the brushes and swirl over the canvases to make art that only the creator would understand and the rest of the world appreciate. This, he found, is where she made her mark. Her child, the one who once pulled at her skirts and cried, sold her paintings in the seaside town and she gained a following.

His eyes lifted up at the black and white painting that hung on his wall. Merely a tourist to her as he completed the transaction as she carefully wrapped up her art in bubble wrap and butcher paper. He’d given her twice the amount she had asked for it, refusing her plea that he had overpaid.

By sixty, she had her own art gallery. He stood far in the back of the room when she cut the ribbon to commemorate the occasion. Her fingers still expertly moved around the canvas as she taught painting classes, her joy blooming in the swaths of paint. Pictures of her great-grandchildren hung in her office as he walked by, watching her hang a frame of the newest addition.

Seventy and eighty, she continued on, her grandchildren taking over the gallery and selling her paintings. They had expanded. One in London and one in New York. A star in her own right.

By ninety, her hands shaking but gripping a paintbrush, eyes bright in the sunshine near the sea, hunched over to paint with her great-great grandchild in her lap. He had stopped to watch her that day before he continued on.

6:21 AM was when she had passed, his eyes opening in the middle of a deep sleep. Another life lived. Not all of them found joy but this one had, forging her own way to find happiness. Perhaps that was the secret of it. You didn’t wait for someone to bring you peace, you had to find it within yourself.

He nodded at the picture before he turned his attention to his computer, a notification popping up with his next assignment. A mother and a father, a baby girl to be born in the States, sometime in the next few days.

He always knew the age of expiration. Even when they were first born. The ones he was assigned lived to be in their later years, eighties and nineties.

He squinted at the age of departure.

Thirty-two.


	2. Chapter 2

She was brought into this world at 9:15 AM, her lungs working perfectly as he once again passed by to confirm his new assignment. This time it was a hospital, sterile and loud with family getting news of the new addition.

This is where he would continue out the door, intent to return a decade later to see her progress.

Instead, he returned a night later, watching the newly named baby girl in the nursery. Thirty-two years of life did not seem like enough, even for someone as old as he was. There were no errors in the age. He knew that.

At age ten, she was athletic, chasing down boys and beating them up in the schoolyard. She played sports, quite well for her age and when he walked past her, he heard her brag to her friends that she was going to be a famous athlete. A tomboy with a voracious appetite. Competitive and loud.

At twenty, she had abandoned that dream, choosing a life of service to others, in school for nursing, following in her mother’s footsteps. Gone was the boisterous and bragging child, now replaced with a gracious and kind woman. She’d grown up to be even more beautiful, unaware of how she looked to the outside world. She walked past him at a coffee shop, her head turning in his direction, meeting his steel blue eyes.

There were rules. He was not supposed to be seen. She smiled before she continued on and he sat for a moment, aware of the repercussions of what could happen, even if she didn't know who he was.

The pull of curiosity made him stand and leave the shop, following after her, breaking his own rules until he stopped in his tracks, watching her continue on without noticing that he had followed. It had already begun.

By thirty, she was a pediatric nurse, one of the best in her hospital. He’d visited more than once. Once at twenty-four when she went through a bad break-up and then at twenty-eight, where she spent her birthday alone, buying a bottle of wine and heading back to her apartment. He’d kept his distance but the pull had become even stronger.

Now as he walked through the maternity wing, unassuming in his casual clothes, he saw her hunched over, sniffling as tears ran down her cheeks. The words began to form as he slowed down, almost ready to ask the question he knew he could not. His steps quickened past her, the sound of her sob tugging at something he did not find familiar.

At thirty-two, she was out for a run, his eyes looking up from the book he was reading in the park. When she disappeared from view, he felt his chest tighten, an unnatural reaction that he had never felt. He ran toward her direction, his arm outstretched to pull her from the street as a car ran through a red light.

He landed on the ground with a heavy thud, arms around the precious weight that he held tight. Shocked gasps peppered the air as people came running.

This was bad.

He knew it the minute he had reached out to her and pulled her away from danger.

Fate was fate.

One was not supposed to change that.

She looked up at him with wide eyes, cloudy with tears of gratitude and fear.

“You saved my life,” she whispered, her body trembling. It would be a while until she could compose herself. For now, he was content, keeping her safe in his arms.

All he could see was her. The need to protect her was overwhelming, warping into something that was on the horizon that he tried to understand.

Possession.


	3. Chapter 3

He’d carried her to the ambulance, the medics wrapping her ankle and tending to his scratched and bloodied arm where he had hit the pavement. He kept silent, knowing full well it would heal before they finished attending to it. For now, he had to leave. There would be no excuses, he was prepared to explain his actions.

A soft hand touched his forearm and he knew it was her. He’d already gotten a close up of her face, never to be forgotten from memory. He allowed himself one more glance, turning to look over his shoulder.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” she started, choking back a sob, wiping her eyes. “I wouldn’t be here right now if you hadn’t been there.”

“Good timing,” he assured her. “You have a good life.”

This would be all he would allow. A small farewell and an affirmation for her to continue living.

Even if he wanted to be present to see how she would make the most of her extended years.

“Can I know your name? Please.” There was a twinge of desperation in her voice, a need that bloomed in his chest. The pressure that that caused no pain, new but he was aware enough to know that this wasn’t normal. Enough time has been spent in her presence and he needed to leave. Yet he lingered, fighting against what he knew he needed to do.

There should never be a name to a face, let alone a hint that he existed to her. Her hand was warm on his arm, his eyes following a faint jagged scar on the top of her hand she’d sustained in a roller skating accident when she was twenty.

Too many details known about her and forbidden to explain the allowance that was made for her to keep living.

The gift of time was precious for mortals. Which would explain her willingness to lengthen their interaction, her eyes hopeful as the words rolled off his tongue.

"James. My name is James."

"James," she repeated, her eyes closing for a moment. "That's a nice name."

Though he knew her name and everything about her, he allowed her to introduce herself, sharing her occupation and how she loved running. Little details omitted from her speech that he knew was crafted for strangers. Mortals liked to hide their true selves until they got to know each other. She loved running because her job was stressful, assisting with bringing new lives into the world and watching over them. 

They were not so different.

He stood, brushing off his pants before he took one last look at her.

“You’re leaving?” she asked, trying to move herself forward.

“You get home safe,” he replied, turning back around to the street.

No more nosy people wanting to get a look. The crowd had gone back to minding their own business. A lone police car sat in front of them, waiting for details. He knew the exact number of the license plate, the driver and where they could be found. At the most, if he spoke up, there would be a citation for the hapless driver.

But this was meant to be. 

The occupant of the car was running late, hand outstretched to text a message to their employer on their first day of work on a job they had fought hard to get, unaware of the red light they had sailed through and the woman who was focused on finishing her run.

Two lives intertwined, rushing toward the finish line to close out a life. It had been set to complete.

He had intervened. Changed the cycle that was supposed to be fulfilled canonically.

“James, wait,” she called out behind him.

There would be no waiting. He heard the medics insisting she stay still, her denial echoing to his ears while he headed toward the waiting officer who was eager to start his report.

He gave no additional information when asked. When one was saving a life, there was no attention to details. It was instinct to act.

The more steps he took, the harder it was to ignore the urge to look back.

These were earthly reactions, unacceptable for someone like him.

Something stirred inside his psyche. Remnants centuries old as he realized that with the twist of fate from his own hand, there was power in control. Her life cycle had been lengthened.

He’d made it so.

There would be no rules on when to check in on her. The possibilities were endless.

And she would be grateful. Much as she was now, calling out his name as he continued on, her pleas purposely ignored. A surge of power and purpose that had remained dormant now rose to the surface. It was still unfamiliar, this feeling that had taken hold. He’d resisted it when he’d held her in his arms, the urge to take her.

Keep her.

But he turned once more, steel blue eyes on the beautiful woman who had lifted her head. As if she knew he was going to turn back around.

Even as he thought about the repercussions of his actions, the discipline that would most likely be meted out, he knew he would return.

He had to.


	4. Chapter 4

Walking through the halls of the building, he began to think of how long it would take for him to get her out of his system. Even now, he had committed every inch of her to memory, her voice raising an octave when she had understood that he was not going to turn around. His commitment to his job still allowed him a moral compass, even if he had broken a rule. While he knew it was not a goodbye, she certainly did not know that and he could hear her sob of grief before he rounded the corner, goosebumps vibrating in his skin.

She was removed from his thoughts when he found himself being pushed up against the wall, Strange’s eyes narrowing as his hand was at his neck.

“What the hell did you do?” Strange whispered fiercely while he looked back and forth at the empty hallway before he continued. “We don’t fuck with fate. Rule number one.”

He pushed Strange’s arm off of him before he shoved him away, Strange stumbling backward in surprise at his strength. Bucky's eyes darkened, black swallowing up the once clear blue irises.

“Don’t recite the rules to me, Strange. I’ve been doing this longer than you’ve been alive,” he growled.

Strange lifted a finger in his direction with a glare.

“And yet you chose to break them. The council will hold an emergency meeting on this, you know that.”

He adjusted his tie before his fierce gaze trained on Strange. "Let them."

He continued toward his office as Strange called out after him.

"Barnes, there are _always_ consequences. You know that."

In his office, he found peace. More emails had piled up in his inbox while he had been away. He'd never missed an assignment until now. Those were rerouted when he did not respond. He did not doubt that Strange was currently trying to salvage the situation while also trying to save face. He was certain there were no guidelines in place for what he had done. Presently, he would wait for the call and explain his reasoning when the time came.

But he would not apologize.

With every email that had been recalled and reassigned, he thought about the life he had lived up until that moment. The feeling of warmth that spread across his chest when he saw her running in the park and the tightness inside of him that had followed of knowing that she had almost perished.

No. He would not apologize for saving her life. No more than he could ignore the feeling of _something_ that continued to expand inside him. A need that was non-descript but forming without cessation, even now as he sat at his desk, idly accepting an assignment that would occur in a week. A baby boy to be born, age of departure at ninety-seven years old. For now, he still had a job to do, clicking through his emails until he reached an even number right as Strange knocked on the door and entered, a look of worry on his face.

"You're needed in the conference room," Strange announced, his thin lips forming into a frown. "Don't upset them, Barnes. I've tried my best to appease them but they want to hear the story from you. Never in all my years...I've never heard of anything like it. The council is very concerned."

He could care less if they were concerned. Strange backed away a few steps while he walked past him, seemingly afraid of what he thought Barnes would do. Truthfully, Barnes had always been strong but had kept it a secret. No one needed to know the extent of his power, especially Strange.

While they walked down the silent hallway, Strange cleared his throat to try and explain how he wanted him to answer.

"They are going to ask you why you did it. I'm sure they are going to interrogate you. As I said, this is the first time we've dealt with a violation of this kind. We've seen the usual, the ones who forget to check-in or file the proper paperwork but never this. What made her so special?"

At this, he knew he did not have the answer. Not the one that Strange was looking for. How could one explain that there was a need to go against everything he had been taught? The surge of power still coursed through his body, the feeling euphoric while Strange opened the door to let him in.

"Don't lose your job over this," Strange warned, motioning him to go inside with a nod.

Inside the room, three men sat, with every pair of eyes on him while he took a seat at the other side of the table. Fury, one of the oldest in the building, shook his head with a sorrowful sigh of disappointment.

"I admit that I don't know how to begin this conversation. In over five centuries of life, I have never seen such a blatant abuse of authority. It's incomprehensible to me that you would save a life that was slated for departure. There are rules in place for mortals just like we have rules for us. What were you thinking? Please, let us know because we have no idea how you thought that this was going to be overlooked."

The other men, Pierce and Lee, sat on either side of him, the same grim expression on their faces as Fury.

"I didn't expect it to be overlooked. Quite the opposite, Fury, I assure you that I knew this was coming. I make no excuses for my actions. I am aware that this was out of character for me."

"Out of character, indeed. You have lengthened her life span in an infinite possibility. That is not done," Pierce admonished. "You cannot decide who to save. That is not in your realm of responsibilities."

"But it is in my realm of power, is it not?" Barnes challenged.

The men grew silent, mulling over his question.

"Regardless of power, this cannot happen. We have spoken as a collective and we see no other way to handle this," Fury continued, looking at his counterparts. "You will extinguish her, Barnes. You have one week."

"We don't kill mortals. That is your own rule, as I recall." Barnes met Fury's stare of shock.

"Then you know that our rules are fluid. You saved her life, you take it from her. I don't care how you do it but you will."

"I will not." His jaw clenched hard at his response. He would never lay a finger on her, let alone end her life.

The men looked at each other in surprise, leaning over to whisper in each other's ears.

Barnes heard every single word.

"What makes you believe that you have power over us? We are your superiors," Lee cautioned.

Barnes looked at the men before he flexed his hand. "I am old. Much older than you, Fury. I have held back for centuries to complete what has been asked of me. I have been passed up for opportunities and yet, I never faltered in my support of what we do. I know our work is important and that is why I do it without fail. But I will not take a life. That territory is reserved for others. Not me."

Fury slammed his fist on the table, the legs rattling under the force.

"Enough. That sounds like a challenge. You wouldn't be undermining my authority, would you?"

The room was quiet as he surprised himself, the adrenaline building.

"And if I am?"

Fury sucked in a breath before he exhaled, shaking his head with disappointment. Barnes sat still, still reeling from his challenge. The outburst had been out of character but it felt good to see their faces in complete shock.

"Then you know that it is against our rules," Lee sputtered, his lips shaking with anger. "For centuries -"

"For centuries I have been your faithful servant. I have given my life for this work, even when others have prospered ahead of me. If you would like to call it a challenge, so be it."

Pierce held up his hand for silence.

"Your work has been valued greatly, Barnes. No one is arguing that fact. But these actions have consequences. She could live forever. We've never had a case like this. There is no telling what a mortal could do with unlimited time."

"So you would rather her die than to find out?"

"To keep our work secure? Yes. Not to mention what consequences this could have on you," Pierce added, noting Barnes' fists that were at his sides. "You do not weigh the scales. To have power unchecked... "

He had done just that, proving it was possible.

"Is that what this is about? Unlimited power?" Barnes asked, standing up in front of his chair. "You're afraid that I would overpower you."

The three men looked at each other, not willing to confirm his theory.

"It is best for you to complete the task," Fury reminded him. "Regardless of it you think you could overpower us."

"I'm confident in my abilities," Barnes affirmed, the table splitting down the middle with a narrowing of his eyes at the trio. They jumped back at the sound of the desk cracking, their faces flashing in terror. "I will not end her life."

Fury jumped up as the desk wobbled, pointing a finger at him. "You have a day to rethink your position. Or we send someone else to take care of it."

At the threat, Barnes rolled up his sleeves carefully, the lights above them flickering with every movement.

"I welcome the challenge to meet whoever you send, Fury. I'll protect her."


End file.
